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Full text of "My Country And My People"

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of golden content and its purple of resignation and death.
And the moon shines over it, and its brow seems \vhite with
reflections, but when the setting sun touches it with an evening
glow, it can still laugh cheerily. An early mountain breeze
brushes by and sends its shivering leaves dancing gaily to the
ground, and you do not know whether the song of the falling
leaves is the song of laughter or of parting tears. For it is the
Song of the Spirit of Early Autumn, the spirit of calm and
wisdom and maturity, which smiles at sorrow itself and praises
the exhilarating, keen, cool air—the Spirit of Autumn so well
expressed by Hsin Ch'ichi:

In my young days,

I had tasted only gladness.
But loved to mount the top floor,
But loved to mount the top floor,

To write a song pretending sadness,

And now I've tasted

Sorrow's flavours, bitter and sour,
And can't find a word,
And can't find a word,

But merely say, "What a gold autumn hour!"


[The following must not be taken as reflecting an the National
Government, but rather on the immensity of the task which the Govern-
ment is faced with in its gigantic work of evolving order out of chaos,]

But let us be honest* It would be easy for a sinologue to
paint a picture of idealized China, the China of blue porcelain
bowls and the exquisite figures on the blue porcelain bowls,
and the China of silk scrolls and the happy scholars sitting
under pine trees on the scrolls. It would be easy to say with
the sinologue: Even if Japan should conquer China for a few
centuries, what of it? A Chinese cannot say: What of it? Foe
we are living in a real China, not the China of blue porcdaia
bowk and exquisite silk scrolls, but a Ghiaa ia the midst of
pangs and thn>es of labour, a China facing the collapse of a&